“So… this says… the… ball is red. Really? haven’t we covered this page before? But… what’re all these extra details if I turn on—”

“[Whoops! You’re not quite ready for all that yet. It’s too complicated.]”

“I’m not a child you know!”

I pouted — I could feel the pout even though I felt stupid for acting this way — as Cherry turned off the extra details in the ‘book’ I was reading. The ‘book’ was a typical alien affair, a lightweight yet sturdy device with one large screen that could be rolled up or folded, was touch sensitive, could speak in multiple languages — including my own — and held vastly more than just the one nursery-level story adventure about a bright red ball that I was reading for probably the fifth time.

The book actually held a good chunk of the sum of all Senate-species books produced over the last however-many thousands of years. It was a standard data terminal given to preschoolers when they were practicing their reading and writing. It kept my place between lessons with cheery little creatures that I presumed were native to karnakia and helpfully gave me tips on how to improve my reading comprehension skills with their happy animations and infinite patience.

It patronized me even more than Cherry did.

I was using it to learn Karnakian and Galactic Standard Script, a midway language that was fully computable and logically consistent. Nobody natively spoke GalScript, but it was used as the go-between in all translators, including my own collar. It was also used galaxy wide as the standard script for all multi-species documentation, signage and other written communication. That now included all official Terran-Senate communication.

Humans were learning it en masse as part of our integration tasks, even those not living with the aliens on a daily basis. The GalNet news stations were reporting on the difficulty working with Newport on Mars, which had proclaimed itself a sovereign state for the benefit of humans only, but the independent colonies were picking it up well, as were Luna and United Earth Government members on the moon.

In some ways, for the people in my position, it was harder to learn GalScript than for those in the colonies. We had our translators and our benefactors looking out for us, and it was stupidly easy to put puppy dog eyes to good use. With the way they fell over backwards to give us everything we could ever want, I for one didn’t quite have the strength to not take advantage of it. It didn’t work in the colonies where human teachers were quite able to be harsh enough for their students, of any age, to get them to shape up or ship out.

Newport, of course, didn’t want to play ball in general. They weren’t entirely anti alien, but they definitely weren’t interested in becoming part of the Senate at large. The Martian city was being built with the lowest, sturdiest technology available that the Senate were willing to give unrestricted access to. It was comparably cramped, smelly, dirty and a far cry from the comfortable, airy, well-appointed quarters I enjoyed. True to their word though, the Senate were air-dropping materiel and machines from orbit, and hadn’t set scaly hide, talon, paw, claw or feathered backside on Mars, nor would they so long as the colony remained viable.

Of course, I didn’t have any pretensions that showing the naked truth of non-integrated living wasn’t deliberate propaganda by the Senate, and part of the effort to integrate the majority of mankind into the galactic community at large, but it was the truth.

“But… why won’t you turn it back on?” Annoyingly, puppy dog eyes weren’t working this time.

“[No. You’re not ready for it. You can barely manage your lessons as it is! You’re not ready for that level of detail, not yet, it’ll just distract you and you’ll make no progress at all.]”

I narrowed my eyes, poking at the screen attempting to turn it all back on, but Cherry had used her ‘parental permissions’ to lock me out. “That’s very fair of you, stifling my inquisitive nature.”

Cherry fluffed up angrily. “[Okay… you asked for it. Holoprojection, data display, level [ten] Galactic Standard Script, last spoken phrase by [Dean].]”

There was a burst of light as the dwelling’s holoprojector activated. The room flooded with information. I was almost blinded. All that for a simple phrase?

“[Here is the basic meaning, that you believe I am a fair and just giver of knowledge… but that’s not what you meant, was it? No, the modifier noted by this axis negates the normal adjective of that clause, actually inverting it. The predicate and arguments here show your emotional state, a frustration with the boundaries given, implying I think you are a rowdy chick who is anxious to show off his first moult before the feathers are even full. Do you want me to go on?]”

I grumbled, swiping to ‘turn the page’. “The ball is bouncy and… pretty.”

“And if you’d been paying attention you’d know you were being asked to provide the extra meanings from these words this time. It means the ball is ‘rubbery’ and ‘pretty’ and ‘attractive’ and ‘interesting’.” Cherry clucked, dismissing the light show with a wave of her talons. She then sat down again and gently but insistently turned off the book, pulling me into her feathery embrace as she made herself comfortable in the reading nook hollow of the den.

“[You have time, [Dean]. You have plenty of time to learn. It is hard to learn a new language, especially GalScript. Would you rather try Karnakian again?]” Cherry gestured and the holo-emitters fired up once more.

I couldn’t speak Karnakian, but I was doing a relatively good job of learning to read it, even if that was through—

“[Dancing through the stars! We found them! [One and all!] Upon their green world, blue sky and waters! [All the colours!] Come to us, small heroes! Defend your lands from terror! TALONS! TEETH! WARMTH OF HEART! SMALL HEROES!]”

—cartoons. I didn’t know whether to be amused or insulted, but [Small Hero Colourful Friend Defence Team] was certainly popular and I never missed an episode, though plenty of snobs said the Karnakian vis-dub — somehow the show was being produced in English, like some sort of reverse alien anime — was unfaithful to the English original. It featured a band of alien children who accidentally washed up on a version of Earth that was in danger of being attacked by evil space pirates and plundered for their cute denizens and other riches. Through quick thinking, magical powers granted by talking trees and technology from ancient machines, the children aided by their human allies sent the dastardly space pirates packing in episode after episode. I watched it in Karnakian, and had the house systems translate into both English and Karnakian subtitles.

The Senate had tried to ban it from being displayed on Zephyr stations, but that ban had been about as effective as you’d expect. With all their technology, they’d seemingly forgotten about things like the Streisand Effect. In moments from the initial premier, it was the hottest traded commodity from the restricted pile, so much so that they just gave up and looked the other way when it was surreptitiously rebroadcast on the local datanets.

Come to think of it, allowing [Small Hero Colourful Friend Defence Team] to flourish may have been the simplest way to let off steam and avoid even more sensitive shows becoming so highly sought after.

I settled into the cool floof as Cherry combed my hair. Karnakians enjoyed grooming each other almost as much as Dorarizin did, but human hair fascinated them even more than usual. I had to be stern during such sessions or she’d be putting bows in again. Karnakians adored fetishes in their feathers and manes, but I wasn’t quite so fond of the idea.

“I just don’t like feeling stupid,” I grumbled. I was working with material that aliens practically a tenth my age — or so it felt — had already mastered. Cherry shuffled about in the seating hollow we were in, clearly distressed.

“[You’re not stupid,]” she said, swaddling me with her wing-like arms. “[You’re brave and clever and smart… you’ll learn soon enough.]”

I was saved from further platitudes and ruminations by Chuck’s return. The other member of our household was on a staggered shift compared to Cherry, but during the on-station evening they were both home most of the time as they had me to look after. He noisily shook himself out as he crossed the threshold, unbuttoning his waistcoat and dropping his sash onto a nearby hook. He kicked his shoes — more ceremonial claw-guards than what I would call actual footwear — across the room into a corner before stretching out in a long karnakian sigh, rattling his fur-like feathers as he did so.

“Long day?” I asked. Chucky just ducked his head in a karnakian nod, gesturing for the house to widen the pit so he could join us.

“[The [humans] with children are mostly safe, but we had a whole commune to evacuate in one go, all of them malnourished, many of them sick. They were… they were very scared.]”

Cherry nibbled at his neck-fluff where the desert-dweller’s scalier hide gave way to the thin, reed-like fur-spikes. “[They are safe now, they will learn not to fear us.]”

“[I wish they had learned quicker.]” Unsaid was that something had happened, but it was written large across his features, so plain that even I could read it. He may not have been on the ground, but he still got telemetry and co-ordinated raw, unfiltered video feeds.

“You do your best, that’s all you can do. Sometimes it’s not enough. Like Cherry says, they’re scared. As far as some of them know, they lost a war. For all they know, you might find humans as irresistibly tasty as you do cute.”

If pointing out how I was basically a cross between an exotic pet and a child made them upset, you can imagine how saying that made them feel. It was the closest thing to anger with me that I’d seen.

“[How could you—!]”

“[Don’t even joke—!]”

“[We would never!]”

“[Unthinkable!]”

“I’m sorry! It was just a joke! A joke!”

“[Horrible!]”

“[To suggest such…!]”

It took me until after the episode had finished — it’s not like we didn’t have the whole season so far downloaded, this episode included, but it’s the principle of the thing — to calm them down.

On reflection, I felt sorry for what I’d said, truly sorry. By now I’d heard enough rumours to understand that they’d accidentally yet badly injured a human during the initial first contact and that this whole mess was kind of their fault. For me, I tended to see it as taking two to tango, what with the whole nuclear fallout thing. It certainly wasn’t Karnakian missiles that destroyed my home after all.

Most Karnakians were rather straightforward and honest people, loving to a fault. For them, they could never forgive themselves for the absolute travesty that First Contact had turned into, it would be generations before the hurt would fade. With their lifespans being at least a thousand of our years, that meant grieving and pain for a span as long as a good chunk of recorded history so far. My life pre-contact, whilst comfortable by historical standards, was a far cry from the modern amenities I now enjoyed in their care. The kind of dark humour that I was used to made them uncomfortable at the best of times, and to even joke about eating sentients was beyond the pale.

“I’m sorry Cherry, Chucky. Come here… I’m sorry, really.” I pulled their heads down towards mine, bumping foreheads. The standard expression on Karnakians easily translated to ‘angry’ for humans who were uninitiated, but I’d learned to read past that. They were sad and hurt.

“You can forgive your [dilligent little school chick] can’t you?” I looked up at them, wide-eyed and innocent. I couldn’t speak Karnakian, but I could speak GalScript, or at least the standardized Terran pronunciation of it… when aided by the house’s holo-projector and my collar. It was below the belt, really, but as much as they knew I was a full adult, something about us humans just screamed ‘wobbly helpless chick’.

Chucky was the first to fold. He closed his eyes. “[I forgive you, little one,]” he sighed. “[I t-try so hard…]”

I made small, soothing noises, patting his side. I picked at his feathery fur around his head in an attempt to groom him, and a few moments later he was doing the same to my hair.

“Who’s my big strong Karnakian EM Squire? I know you’re the best on the boards. And Mommy is such a friendly, helpful Karnakian too, isn’t she? You’re both doing a great job at saving humans like me, I know you are.”

Cherry squawked in annoyance, gently picking me up and pretend-snapping her teeth across my face and down my chest in an impromptu grooming session, it was similar to having a large dog slobber all over you, only worse.

“[How many times have I told you not to call me that!?]”

“Daddy! Mommy is being mean to me!” I mock-pouted, rubbing the knuckles of my fist on Cherry’s face as she fluffed up in annoyance.

“[You’re not helping your case you know!]” Cherry continued, but by now even Chucky was laughing, trilling helplessly as tears rolled down his muzzle. The tension slowly leaked out of both of them, though I knew I’d be getting grumbled at later. For now though, it meant we could finally wind down as a strange family.

It was a bad habit, perhaps, but I let myself fall asleep held by either or both of the Karnakians. I don’t think I’ve found anything quite so comfortable as an oversized alien space-raptor for a couch. I had my own bed, of course, but I let them take me to it. Don’t look at me like that! I know how you fall asleep watching the telly, and how you’ve never watched all of Star Wars and you used to wake up only half way through the credits. This is pretty much the same, just with less steps.

When I woke up again, it was still ‘night’. That didn’t matter for me though, I’d had enough sleeping for a while and really needed to get out, to clear my head. I didn’t want to wake Cherry and Chucky this early — they, we, had a joint free shift in the ‘morning’ — so I’d make do with just the emergency glow from my collar to get me to the front door. I’d shucked my pants when I’d gone to bed proper, now I pulled them on as quietly as possible, cussing only infrequently as I struggled to get the legs the right way around. A few minutes later and I was out the front door.

Looking back at the house, it remained dark. Streetlights, sensing my motion, slowly grew in brightness until their blue-green glow suffused the area with a friendly light. I took a deep breath of the ‘night’ air, it was fresher and cooler at this time of day, rolling in from the park found spinwards and aft of our house. The center of this cylindrical residential zone was speckled with mobile drones full of lights and holo-effectors that could make the space above the houses look like anything from outer space to a chasm on a distant moon — every so often someone would get to pick a vista for it to display — but right now it was showing the stars as they would appear outside, as if I were on the inside of a partially see-through tube floating in space. Beautiful, but eerie. The lights of other dwellings twinkled distantly on the other side of the ‘arch’. Beneath my feet, the rough and regular footwalks stretched onwards through the habitable zone as it stretched right the way around to the opposite side of the tube, above me, and back down again the other side behind.

I made sure my collar was happy about my relatively unplanned constitutional, the last thing I wanted was to wake everybody up with the silent alarm causing the station security forces to lock the whole floor down and descend en masse, then started walking up the street.

This arcology platform was something else. I was living in suburbia, in space. Despite being quadrillions of tonnes of exotic alloys, it was practically able to land on a planet — not that it was supposed to — and came complete with its own gravity generators. Where I’d expected our apartment to be down some meandering space corridor with a door like any other, it wasn’t. It was a relatively uniform yet distinct house, complete with garden, babbling brook and patio, just the way Cherry and Chucky liked it. I liked it too, but I had places to go. A hover-skimmer soon descended on my position, picking me up. There was no driver and no charge, the perfect taxi.

“Charlie’s,” I said. The taxi interrogated my collar, picked out where I meant and then accelerated at speed, the inertial dampers meaning I couldn’t even feel it as the scenery first fell away then sped past below me. A few minutes later, I was entering the ‘downtown’ district, the next floor ‘down’, aft of my own.

From the air — and we weren’t all that high up, we were after all inside a space-station — the ‘downtown’ district was a blaze of neon. Dropping to ‘floor’ level on the inside of the cylinder’s walls, the taxi slowed to a halt, the gull-wing doors rising up as I stepped out. Here the lights were less dazzling, the sidewalks less gargantuan. This was ‘little Terra’, a home away from home for us humans, especially when the ‘babysitters’ were sleeping. It was almost disorientating when the door was normal sized for once, and it somehow felt… not cramped, but the ceiling being a normal height — at least in the patron side of the bar — was kind of intimate. Even the outside of the buildings were hauntingly familiar, in a strange kind of fashion.

“Hey Reshy, had a good one so far?” I asked the bartender.

“[Starting to warm up,]” replied Chrlesshnethggrethraf noncomitally. He reached up, took down a pint glass and pulled a pint of cider for me. The red and white striped adder-type slid the glass across the top of the bar. I took it gratefully.

“Put it on my tab.”

“[You know you don’t have a tab, right?]”

I snorted, taking a swig. “You say that every time. It’s the principle of the thing.”

“[Same here.]”

I grinned, then wandered over to the jukebox and dropped in a few of the fake coins passed around — for some reason, they had pictures of random humans on them instead of any specific monarchs, along with writing on the other side in a variety of alien languages — before punching buttons on the deliberately clunky interface. Tunes from my home blared over the speakers as I sank into the ratty yet comfortable seats. The fake patina was slowly being replaced by real stains, and although it looked dog-eared, I knew it was meant to but was in fact as new as the rest of the human adaptations to this space station.

Taking another swig of cider, I finally started to relax. Thinking back on the day — evening, for ‘Mommy’ and ‘Daddy’ — I reasoned that Cherry, Chucky, and in fact not only all the karnakians but all the resident aliens, were doing their best to set right what they’d set wrong, even if it didn’t always feel like it. I figured that was because I didn’t see the full situation back on Earth with the holdouts who, rightly or wrongly, were scared of the aliens. Instead I was here, in absolute comfort, because I wasn’t.

I guess that’s why I came to places like Charlie’s. ‘Charlie’ may have been a Jornissian, but the rest of the denizens were, broadly speaking, humans. This was what Cherry and Chucky were working towards, the ability for us humans to have our own culture once more, our own space. I just wasn’t sure the aliens were ready for it.

“Okay, are we ready?” Ollie, special forces vet, was acting as referee tonight. A stalwart Northerner from the UK, he was keeping the peace between Ivan and Seamus, at opposite ends of one side of the room. The crowd was cheering them on.

“Murder darts! Murder darts! Murder darts!” The chanting started up, getting louder and rowdier as the excitement built up.

“Aye, I’m ready,” Seamus said, once Ollie had gained a modicum of control over the crowd. He took a swig from his own bottle as he eyed the shots in front of him.

“Da! Let us begin!” Ivan said, hammering his chest with one hand.

The chanting started up again after that. “Murder darts! Murder darts!”

“I want a clean competition, one drink, one shot, alright? Okay, go!”

Each competitor took a shot of the clear liquid in front of them, then took aim, and...

“Ooohh!”

The crowd winced as one as twin darts sank into the two competitors. One in the arm of Seamus, and one in the shoulder of Ivan. With the medical abilities of the aliens being so far ahead of ours, otherwise debilitating injuries were more or less just an annoyance. Hence, pastimes like ‘murder darts’ had grown in popularity, where injuring yourself or someone else was the aim of the game.

“Give up yet, ya pansy?” Seamus taunted, pulling his dart out. A dribble of blood ran down his arm

“Go cry to your mama,” Ivan retorted, slamming back another drink. He flicked the dart in his shoulder contemptuously to the floor. Seamus took another shot.

“Remember! Miss, and your opponent gets a free shot, their choice of dart or drink!”

“Ivan will not miss.” Ivan took his shot, and took a shot.

“What, you think I’m gonna back out? Feck off.” Seamus did the same.

Two more darts went sailing across the room, more drinks were knocked back, followed by another pair of drinks and another pair of darts. Money changed hands, though in the strange situation we humans found ourselves it was more a set of IOU’s. Eventually, the whole initial row of shots was emptied, their glasses upturned. Both competitors looked a little woozy, but that was because they’d not been drinking on an empty stomach. They’d put alcohol in it first.

“Alright gents! Warmup’s over! Neither of our stars are backing down! It’s time for another round!”

The clear gutrot was once more portioned out, and soon darts once again went flying across the room, finding their targets, though with a wider dispersal now. Some of them did miss, usually to be replaced by a drink from the victor. Off to one side, separate games of ‘punch-face’ were starting up, where the winner of a timed downing of a pint got to punch the loser in the face before having another pint. Things were getting interesting. Having sunk several double shots of my own in addition to a number of pints of cider — quite how many, I was no longer sure — I got up from my seat to move a little closer, maybe take a part in the betting. Unfortunately, several others had the same idea and a pint glass caught my elbow, to get sent flying over me and its owner.

“Oi! What the fuck do you fink yer doin’?”

“Oh shut up you gibbon,” I retorted, words slurred as I wiped myself down, livid. “If you’d looked where you were going—”

“What the fuck did you call me?” I was interrupted by the gibbon in question, all greasy hair and dragging knuckles, and barely a single pair of brain cells to rub together.

“I said you’re a gibbon, you half-witted, window-licking, crayon-eating, knuckle-dragging simpleton, waving your stupid hands all around instead of watching where you’re going. You’ve got your piss-water all over me!”

His friend squared up. “I think you’d better apologize, you little shit.”

I sniffed. “Alright. I’m sorry your friend is a half-witted, window-licking, crayon eating, knuckle-dragging simpleton. I’m sorry your girlfriend—”

In hindsight, that may have not been the right answer. Live and learn. Predictably perhaps, the gibbon drew back his hand, made a fist, and punched me in the face. I was sent staggering backwards through the rapidly parting crowd into Ivan, who slipped with his dart and sent it sinking into Ollie, who slapped two others in their faces, spilling their drinks, which set them off and the rowdy game of murder darts devolved into a rousing rumble.

“Sassenach!”

“Limey bastard!”

“Come on then! One at a time or all at once, ya slags! I’ll nut ya!”

By this time, chairs were flying across the room, the wooden floor was stained with beer and blood, and broken glass littered the tables. Charlie had put up the blast screen, and as for me, I found myself heartily defenestrated. I rolled to a stop outside in the road as a whole pack of armoured dorarizin descended from rapid-response troop carriers. Drones buzzed around, lights piercing the otherwise dark streets, as the peacekeeper forces arrived.

For some reason, at least one of them was wearing what appeared to be a British policeman’s outfit, the strangely bell-shaped archaic hat on his head looking rather out of place. He bent down and cleared his throat as a circle of light surrounded us two in particular.

“[You’re [nicked], [mate],]” he said, through a thick mask that was probably intended to prevent the inevitable dorarizin hug that followed unscented humans and instead made him look like a nightmare in metal, leather and fangs. “[Did that translate properly?]”

I burbled something through the blood streaming out of my cut lip in rough assent and he nodded, seemingly satisfied. At some point after that, the world went dark.

Chr'ter trilled softly in annoyance as the call was resolutely passed through both the privacy and courtesy firewalls and filters, waking her up. The house systems did their best not to intrude during bedtime, but when you do have to handle a priority communication, intruding comes as part of the job.

“|Hello? ...Yes, I am Chr’ter of House Tr’ck’rk’tktk, what…|” she stifled a yawn, feeling all the feathers down her back flutter, her tail-fans cramping, “|what can I do for…|” She sat up straighter as the voice on the other end of the line — audio only for privacy’s sake at this time of night — inquired whether she had one ‘Softy Tr’ck’rk’tktk’ as a part of her Family.

“|By Br’nk’trrr’s last feather,|” she swore. She took a deep breath. “|I do, is this — yes, the local peacekeepers, I under — no, no, he’s a good boy, he’d never… injured? My baby is injured? If you’ve hurt him I’ll tear every scale from your… just you try to charge me with verbal assault and I’ll have your hide! What did you do to my baby!? Chrk’chrk, get up! Right now!|”

“|Rrff? Mff? Wha’?|” Chrk’chrk was kicked in the face by a very agitated Chr’ter. He circled his jaw and shook his head, making sure nothing was injured. “|My prr’nktun blossom, what is it?|”

“|The [peacekeepers]! They’re holding our baby prisoner! He’s been arrested by the not-so Noble-Family-Hunters-Yearning-For-Life!|”

For a brief moment, Chrk’chrk was still, then a low, rattling growl emanated from deep within his body. “|Ripped pinions, tell them we will be there momentarily and that they had better have a very, very good explanation.|”

The call was cut on a frantic jornissian as she tried to calm things down. She decided clocking off early was probably a good idea as the equivalent of a dial-tone was her only companion.

“[Hi [Mommy], hi [Daddy],]” The little-needs-protecting croaked out, smiling through the gaps in his missing teeth as he tried his best ‘little lost chick’ act. It was a bit of a stretch, given how he was currently lying on a relatively spartan bench in a plascrete cell, in the middle of the detention block. His soul-lights were a whirl of painkillers, inebriation and injuries barely suppressed by nano-meds. He was also rather worried about his ultimate fate this night, as he should be.

“|Don’t you try that with us! What did you think you were doing?|” rumbled Chrk’chrk, his spiny feathers rattling. Chr’ter, however, had other things on her mind than her errant’s ‘chick’s behaviour.

“|You have him restrained? In [handcuffs]? Are you a [barbarian]!? Let him free this instant!|”

“[Miss, it is customary in his society—]” the jornissian civilian safety officer tried to explain, but Chr’ter had her back feathers rising and there was a low growl emanating from her throat. Her tail-fans widened and she tried very, very hard not to gouge the floor with her claws.

“|He is not in his society right now, he is in mine and if you do not start treating my baby with a little bit more care I will show you—|”

“|[Burnished feather of the morning light], please calm down. There is already one member of our family in trouble, we do not need another,|” said Chrk’chrk soothingly, trying his best to keep his own feather-spikes down. He then turned to the jornissian that was standing to one side in the grey detention block of the peacekeeper’s station and narrowed his eyes, forked tongue flicking over his lips. “|On the [flipside] of that, if you do not release him this instant I am not responsible for what may happen. He is perfectly safe to handle, and most certainly will not be escaping our tender mercies.|”

“[Un-understood… now if you would just sign this release form and-and-and w-waiver—]” Rsssthssprrktthh tried very hard to keep smiling and remembering to blink. She herself knew what it was like with children, you never forgot the feeling of their teeth as they clung to you, it made her warm even now thinking of the warm-cuddle she’d been tending, so she knew what it was like for the two Karnakians in front of her. [Dean] had been so cute, despite her being forced to keep the warm-cuddle restrained as per his society’s customs until his carers arrived to request he be relinquished from his cell.

“|Waiver?|” growled Chr’ter.

“[He, ah, was part of a public disturbance and-and-and—]”

“|How badly was he injured?|”

Rsssthssprrktthh rattled off a list of injuries, which included bruised livers, cuts and abrasions and a broken shoulder to an increasingly irate karnakian. “[But his teeth will grow back, though you may want to have him on a liquid diet for a while.]”

“|And you want me to sign a waiver for what before you will let me take him home to be properly cared for?|”

“[He was p-part of a p-public dis-disturbance and-and… and I suppose we know exactly where to find you should we require any more information! Just sign th-the release form! Here and here and… thank you he should come into a [little-needs-protecting] hospital later today or tomorrow for another standard dose of nanites, medi-skin re-application, more antitoxins for the intoxicants he digested, and removal of the quick-cast for his broken arm, but for now you are free to go and please don’t come back!]”

The jornissian signalled the cell to release its occupant, then vanished as quickly as her long, yellow and orange tail would let her. For their part, Chr’ter and Chrk’chrk turned to the widely grinning little-needs-protecting. He smelled happy, hurt, pungent from ‘alcohol’ and very, very recalcitrant. His soul-lights were also calmer now that he was back with his family.

“|You have a lot of explaining to do, [Mister],|” grumbled Chr’ter as she pulled the sliding barred door open.

“|Indeed. Just wait until your moth… er, I mean Chr’ter and I, get you home!|”

The little-needs-protecting’s face fell as he was gently, but firmly, pulled to his feet.

“|So you say you were innocent?|” Chrk’chrk asked, his feathers rippling up and down his body.

“[Honest. I was just there for some… time to myself. W-with others. I mean—]”

“|With others of your own kind. We understand. Just… that’s a… a bad part of town—|” Chr’ter stated.

“[Hey!]”

“|Sorry, but it is. And then you got into this… riot?|” Chrk’chrk continued.

“[I didn’t mean to! I wasn’t going to get involved in anything dangerous or illegal when I went out!]”

“|At least you’re safe now,|” Chr’ter said, fussing over Softy’s injuries. She yawned, fluffing herself up as she pulled the injured little-needs-protecting into her embrace. “|Now all we need to do is relax a little. Maybe put the holoprojector on whilst we wake up properly.|”

“|...In local news today, there was an altercation with the [little-needs-protectings] at a bar colloquially known as [Charlie’s]. A fight broke out over a dangerous game known as [murder darts] went awry during an illegal betting session.|”

“|You WHAT!?|” Chr’ter felt the little-needs-spankings tense up in her grasp as she heard and saw the news footage.

“|The instigator of the fight has been identified and appears to be one [Softy Tr’ck’rk’tktk], and will be—|”

“|YOU ARE SO GROUNDED!|”